by Kaylin Lee
Then again, what if the note was another imagining, like all the strange things I’d seen in the past few weeks? When I’d turned the paper over, it had been blank, as though the message had never been there at all. Perhaps my cowardly subconscious was coming up with reasons not to go back to the market.
Weslan spoke up. “If they have better security, this market might be safer than the other ones now.”
Zel pressed her lips together, clearly frustrated, and then she began to question Weslan again about the security measures Master Marus had promised.
I ignored their argument, my head spinning with the worries and doubts that had plagued me for days. I’d lain awake for hours last night, clutching the crumpled blank paper in my hand. All I wanted to do was take Gregor up on his offer and get our family out of Asylia. I couldn’t live like this anymore.
Did that make me a coward? Was it cowardice to run if your family was in danger? At some point, didn’t we have to put the twins’ safety first? And what about Zel—hadn’t she been through enough?
And what about Asylia? What about all our customers? I cringed as I remembered the grubby, childish hands fingering the sparkling folds of my skirt and the kind faces of our customers beaming at me with frosting on their lips. Then I thought of the girl’s limp hand, the crumbled pieces of cake ground into the gravel beside her, and my stomach twisted like it was being wrung out like a rag.
I’d spent five years at the Royal Academy preparing to be a public servant, and now I was ready to abandon the city completely. What good had this miserable city ever done for me? For the girl who had died? For anyone?
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was the wrong person to be making a life or death decision for the people at the market. I hadn’t even told Zel and Weslan about the message I’d received—or at least, the message I thought I’d received—last night. Somehow, voicing the words aloud would make the fear too real, as though I might never come out from beneath the terror again. It would only smother me more, stripping away whatever bits of courage I still had until I was a shivering, nervous shell of the girl I had once been.
“Let's try.” The sound of my own raspy voice silenced the argument, and I shut my eyes, hardly able to believe what I’d said. Was I losing my mind? But even as I regretted the words, I knew they were the right ones.
I cleared my throat and opened my eyes, forcing myself to meet Zel’s gaze. “We can’t give up, not without knowing that we’ve given it our all first. We should go back and try again. If it doesn’t work out or there’s another attack, fine. We can leave and try something else.” Somewhere else. “But if we give up now, when others are willing to try …” I didn’t finish. I looked at Zel, willing her to understand.
“But what if it’s—” Zel’s voice broke.
“Regardless, I protected her once, and I can do it again,” Weslan said firmly. He shifted his gaze to me, and his expression changed slightly, as though he’d answered a silent question in his head.
I tore my gaze away, feeling unaccountably flustered, but the look of sheer determination on his face stayed with me.
Zel looked between the two of us, frowning. Finally, she nodded. “I don’t like it, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But I understand.”
~
“I’m ready for you,” I said, after an embarrassingly long yawn. I’d hardly slept for the second night in a row, and it was hard to be up and about before dawn to prepare for the market’s reopening.
“Done,” said Weslan, sounding suspiciously smug.
I whirled around. The hundreds of small cakes I’d frosted, which littered the kitchen counters and table, were shining with magic. Weslan had transformed their plain white frosting into a glittering violet to complement the tangy, summery brambleberry flavor we’d chosen for today’s cakes. “Already?” Normally, it took Weslan several minutes to add his special touch to so many cakes.
He smirked at me, and I had to roll my eyes. No single person deserved to have so much confidence. It just wasn’t fair.
We arrived at Theros Street Market before the opening bell, and set up our cakes in the new display trays we’d borrowed from Gregor. I hoped these wouldn’t meet the same fate as our own.
I stood in front of the table, shivering in the light summer rain, and I waited for the bell in silence as Weslan hovered over the cakes, adjusting the arrangement here and there. He seemed lost in thought, something that rarely happened, and I ached to ask him what he was thinking. But though I’d felt closer to him since he had saved my life, I had a hard time acting on the closeness.
What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he thought of me as his employer or as his fresh start, as he’d called it?
Besides, most mages would think me below him. I was a useless commoner, without the powers of a mage or the wealth of a Procus. Perhaps he once had thought so too. Did he still feel that way? I couldn’t risk humiliating myself.
I busied myself with observing the rest of the market. Most of the original vendors were there, an impressive showing that spoke to their loyalty to Master Marus. And to their courage. Only a few stalls sat empty. I looked away rather than torment myself by wondering whether their owners had been killed by the Blight or had simply given up.
The sky was too gray and rainy to tell what time it was. But then the opening bell rang, a loud, defiant peal that echoed down the street and set my nerves on edge. To my surprise, streams of determined-looking shoppers poured through the entrance. My heart pounded.
Weslan stood close to me, a spare inch of space between his arm and mine, as we watched the crowds surge toward the back of the market. Toward us.
When the first group was about six feet away, he stepped in front of me, his body forming a solid shield between me and the crowd. And then he began to call out the tragic story of Cinderella, injecting more emotion into his voice than ever before.
It wasn’t long before the crowd was eating out of his hand. They booed the Crimson Blight with such force, I took a quick step back. And when he recited the part about my inner beauty, they hollered and cheered.
I felt a genuine smile creep onto my face, the giddy, happy butterflies in my chest at odds with the shaking hands I hid in my skirt. When Weslan stepped away from me, my heart pounded even harder. Please, don’t let the Crimson Blight come back again. That was all I could think as I looked out at the brave, cheering crowd.
Weslan waved his hand and a cloud of warm, glittering magic enveloped me once again. It disappeared, and I looked down, speechless as I admired the new dress. The gown was better than anything he’d ever made. The lush, sparkling skirt was a pale, pure violet with a train longer than a Procus lady’s wedding gown. The material pooled like water on the ground around my feet. The delicate bodice was covered in shimmering lace, falling off my shoulders in a way that was almost, but not quite, indecent, and hugging my waist in a lacy grip before flowing down around my legs.
The crowd gasped, and a joyful cry went up around the entire market. I looked around, confused, and suppressed a shout of surprise myself. Decorations of shining gold and glittering violet covered the entire market, and gold canopies sheltered each vendor’s stall, going all the way up to the market entrance.
Then a sound that was part sigh, part laugh went up from the crowd as a flurry of violet and gold flower petals floated down from the sky around them. Weslan had transformed the very rain drops as they fell. Children ran among the adults, catching the petals in their hands, and a few young ladies spread their arms wide and twirled in the magical shower of petals.
When the shower ended, the crowd surged forward, snatched up our frosted brambleberry cakes, and stuffed quarter marks into Weslan’s money purse.
I handed each cake out with a genuine smile, thanking each customer with as much sincerity as I could press into the two simple words. We didn’t deserve their loyalty. That much was certain. And yet, here it was. I could no more abandon them than I could abandon Zel or the twins.
~
For what must have been the tenth time that day, I wished for a mirror.
I’d been getting admiring glances from the young men at the market, and I desperately wanted to see what the gorgeous violet dress looked like on me. But the crowd of customers kept us busy, and I barely had time to catch my breath.
Occasionally, between customers, I sent a sidelong glance at Weslan. He would sometimes catch my eye and give me a knowing smile, looking obnoxiously proud of himself. That drove me even crazier than the desire to see a mirror.
A new thought crossed my mind. Obviously, he’d become more powerful since the attack on the market. Using his magic to hide us from the attackers must have been the equivalent of several weeks’ worth of bakery work which explained why he’d slept so long and why he’d gained so much power. There was no way he could have decorated the entire market in the space of a breath a week ago, much less when he first used his magic to work the oven in the bakery.
But if he was growing more powerful, how long would he be content to remain at the bakery? He’d told me he wanted a fresh start and that he thought he needed to be with us to make it. But he could have his fresh start any day now if the government discovered his growing powers, rescinded his expulsion, and pressed him back into service.
A raw ache took over my throat at the thought of losing him. Because I didn’t want his help at the bakery. I wanted him. That was always my problem, wasn’t it? Reaching too far. Wanting something I could never have. You’d think I would have learned my lesson by now.
I tried to focus on the line of customers and the feeling of triumph that had warmed me throughout the day. We were doing it. We weren’t giving in to fear. That was what mattered, right? We were standing firm and—
Two grave-faced men shouldered our newest customer out of the way, cutting off my train of thought. One wore the official Quarter Guard uniform. The other, a younger man with dark hair and pale skin, had the gold armband and black uniform of a tracker.
“Ariella Stone?” said the guard, one hand on the baton at his side.
“Yes?” My voice sounded small.
“Are you the owner of this stand?”
“Yes.” Had they found out about our True Name bond? Or worse, about Zel? I began to sweat.
“We’re here because we received an anonymous tip that you have been using magic for unapproved purposes.”
“Unapproved? I didn't know—”
The guard continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “You'll be required to submit to a formal audit investigation. Or if that’s a problem,” he said with a sneer, “you're welcome to protest this investigation from the dungeon.”
Weslan and I glanced at each other uneasily. We had no choice. “Of course,” I said, trying to sound certain. “Whatever you need.”
We answered question after question as the tracker pawed through our remaining cakes, examining them every which way as though looking for clues. All Weslan had done was change the color of the frosting. And, well, a few other things. How complicated could it be?
Unless … could he pick up traces of Zel? She had never touched our cakes. We’d been careful—extremely careful. Surely, even the best tracker wouldn’t be able to catch her trace.
And then, to my horror, the tracker walked over and began to pat down my dress. I stepped away reflexively, and Weslan glared at him. But the impassive tracker showed not the slightest expression.
“Comply, or you’re headed to the dungeon,” the guard said menacingly, and the tracker resumed his exploration of my dress. I held my gaze straight ahead, trying not to think of his hands as they left an invisible path on every inch of the violet dress I had loved so much. I heard a small noise, like a grunt of surprise, and glanced down at the tracker.
He said nothing else, and his face remained a mask of cold disinterest.
Finally, after an hour of intense questioning, the officer handed me a sheet of paper. “You're being charged with improper use of magic, Miss Stone.” I scanned the piece of paper in my hand.
Unapproved use of magic to provide heat. 400 marks.
Unapproved use of magic to make food without being tested for safety or quality. 400 marks.
Unlicensed sale of goods comprised of over one-tenth mage-crafted substances. 400 marks.
“But this will ruin us!” I forgot myself and cried out angrily. Both men looked at me, the tracker with the slightest hint of satisfaction on his face, and the guard with utter disgust. “How can you expect us to pay this much?”
“Well, there's a simple solution,” the guard said dryly. “Stop breaking the law.”
“But if we close our bakery, we’ll have nothing. We need this money!”
“Again,” the guard said, his tone reeking of condescension, “Stop breaking the law and you won’t have a problem. This fee is due at the end of the week. If you persist in breaking the law, you'll pay this fee every week. If you're lucky. If you're unlucky, you'll both spend the rest of your days in the dungeon.”
The tracker looked hard at Weslan and spoke for the first time, his voice gravelly and low. “Be careful who you associate with, Wes.”
Weslan stiffened beside me. Did they know each other?
“I would’ve thought you’d been taught not to use your magic for such low purposes.”
Chapter 15
“Who was that tracker?” I couldn’t help asking once they’d left.
Weslan’s cheeks were flushed and his shoulders tense. He gripped the edge of the stall, and for a moment I thought he might flip it on its side. Then he let go. “Just an idiot from the Mage Academy.” He stacked the empty trays with a series of clatters. “A year ahead of me. I didn’t like him then, and I don’t like him now.”
Neither did I.
Master Marus approached us as we finished packing up our ruined cakes. He must have been waiting for the guard and tracker to leave. “What did they want?”
I handed him the slip of paper. “Unapproved use of magic. Apparently, it’s expensive.”
Master Marus swore, his cheeks turning red. “Of all the—”
There was a crash as Weslan slammed one of our display stands into the hand cart a little too hard. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
I didn’t reply. I felt like smashing things too.
We’d have to work every day for the next week to make enough money to pay the fine, and then, if the officer followed through with his threat, they’d hit us with another fine for another week of unauthorized operation of the bakery. We were ruined.
Master Marus threw the paper down on our stand and gave me a hearty pat on the back. “Cheer up, Ella. You can’t give up yet.”
I glared at him. Surely, he couldn’t accuse me of giving up if the city government itself was trying to drive me out of business.
He winked, his earlier frustration seemingly forgotten. “The prince may not have a good reputation, but I've heard that he's a reformer. Trying to help merchants and such.”
Behind me, Weslan scoffed. “A reformer? He’s a beast, Master Marus. If you knew half the things he did when his father was alive …”
Master Marus shook his head. “He’s changed. Or at least, he’s changing. He got wind of what happened at our market and sent us our own tracker. Would a beast do that?”
Weslan only grunted in response.
“I've heard the like from other merchants too. It may be that things are changing, Ella. The next petition day is coming up in two days. If you make a formal petition, maybe he'll forgive all those fines. After all, the people love your bakery. You're making great cakes, and you draw repeat customers to a market that many people have been afraid to visit even once. You’re a boon to us. The city needs you both. Don't give up yet.”
I raised my eyebrows. I’d never considered trying to petition Prince Estevan. I didn't know anyone who had ever been to the monthly petition day. Getting the attention of any Procus family—especially the royal family—was never a good idea in Asylia. Bu
t all I told Master Marus was, “We’ll think about it.” On our way home, I asked Weslan, “Do you really think we should do it?”
“I think you should do it,” Weslan said gruffly. “Not me.”
My heart turned over in my chest. Was he planning on leaving us? “But … aren’t we in this together?”
He shrugged one shoulder as he hauled the hand cart down the street. “I’m like a leper over there, Ella. They kicked me out, remember? If I come with you and anyone recognizes me, there’s no way they’ll let you see the prince, much less grant your petition.”
I was silent for a moment. “But you’re the reason people love the bakery stand so much. If it was just me, why would they care?”
He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road in front of us.
I ached to do something to grab him, to get his attention, but as always, fear held me back.
“The whole thing was your idea,” he said at last. “You’ve got the brains for this, Ella. I make it sparkle, but without you, it would never exist in the first place. As much as I don’t want you going anywhere near the prince, I don’t think we have much of a choice. These fines will keep us under until he either changes the regulations or gives us a pass on the regulations. Or we give up and they lock us up because we can’t pay the fine.”
I knew he wasn’t being completely serious, but the words still sent a shiver down my spine. How would Zel and the twins survive if I were in the dungeon? Or working off a sentence in the farms and mines outside Asylia?
Zel wouldn’t last two weeks before a tracker caught her trail, and who knew what would happen after that?
“I’ll try it,” I said. “It’s hard to imagine that things could get any worse.”
Weslan gave me a half smile. “There’s the spirit,” he said ruefully.
I couldn’t help but laugh. But of course, things could always get worse. If anyone knew that, it was us.
~
